Better Late Than Never
by Maren1978
Summary: Held captive by unknown abductors and holding his grievously wounded son in his arms, James finally starts to realize that his initially well-meant disappearance messed with his kid's mind in a way he'd never anticipated. It's too late to repair the damage that's been done to the little boy so many years ago. What he might be able to do is give a dying man some peace of mind.
1. Chapter 1

_This story is set in early third season. I'm ignoring James's cancer._

_I'm writing this to shed some light on how I imagine James's past and explore the possible reasons why he acted towards little Angus the way he did._  
_When it comes to his son, James undoubtedly made a couple of piss-poor choices, which cannot be undone with an apology. I want him to finally acknowledge that. Mac needs closure, but I figured that it would require some dire circumstances for James to overcome his grim determination not to talk about that painful part of his past._

_Besides, it's an excellent opportunity for some shameless whump, which I couldn't possibly let go to waste… ;)_  
_Oh, and in case my summary worries you I assure you that I won't kill Mac in this._

_Special thanks to the very helpful Nativestar, who's taken the time to check this for spelling and grammar mistakes. You are wonderful!_  
_All remaining mistakes are mine._

_Enjoy! :)_

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Chapter 1:

James MacGyver couldn't believe that it had been this easy to snatch him. He had spent the last hour sitting with his back against the wall he was shackled to, trying to wrap his mind around the fact that he hadn't seen this attack coming. _Stupid,_ he reprimanded himself. After all, there was no such thing as being off-duty in his line of work. The bad guys never took a break and somebody evidently thought that him sitting on his own in that diner, waiting for his son (who never showed, by the way) had been a chance of a lifetime.

They had obviously been correct.

He still had to figure out which of his numerous enemies had taken advantage of his carelessness. Everyone he'd seen so far was masked and otherwise so nondescript that they could be working for anybody.

He'd initially been pretty pissed at his son when he didn't show up for the meeting he'd asked for in the first place, but by now James was glad that Angus had backed out for some reason because that meant that he was at least safe.

Or so he thought.

Heavy boots approached, the massive steel door to his cell opened and Angus appeared in the opening, flanked by two black-clad figures in TAC-gear. For one short crazy moment, James was sure that he had come with a Phoenix team to free him, but that hope was brutally crushed.

MacGyver Sr. needed only one glance to realize that something was horribly wrong. The slender shape in the doorway wasn't standing on his own and when the hands that were keeping him upright pushed him forward his knees buckled and he fell limply forward into the cell. James scurried towards him as far as the chain around his ankle allowed and just managed to prevent the blond-haired head from hitting the grimy concrete floor with a crash. Mac groaned as James lowered him to the ground as gently as possible. He was panting heavily, clearly in a great deal of pain.

"Angus, NO! What -" James broke off, taking in the pale face with the set of fresh bruises all over it. "Hey, hey, can you hear me?"

A hoarse "H-hurts," through tightly clenched teeth was all the answer he got.

"I can see that. Slow, deep breaths, son. You're hyperventilating." Mac tried. Sadly, it was practice that helped him gain a little more control over his breathing, but still every exhale was a pained moan. "That's it. Where are you hurt? What happened?" the older man asked urgently.

"Stabbed," Mac pressed out, grinding his teeth and wincing. James cursed badly when he noticed the dark stain that had started to spread on his son's shirt. He unceremoniously ripped the bloody shirt open to get a look at the source of the blood and quickly located the incision in Angus' lower abdomen. The cut looked small and clean, almost innocent, but it was bleeding heavily and there was no telling how deep it went. James cursed once more and ripped the already ruined shirt into pieces, balled them up and used them to apply pressure to the wound. The blond on the ground writhed and groaned in agony, pressing his eyes shut.

"Stay awake, you hear me? Keep those eyes open!"

"'ll try," Angus hissed through his teeth and forced his eyes open again.

James pressed hard onto the bleeding, trying to keep as much blood as possible inside the far too pale and rapidly weakening body. The older man looked around frantically for something – anything – he could use to help his son, but the underground cell they'd been thrown into was completely devoid of anything useful.

"Hold this for a moment, will you?" Not waiting for an answer, he placed Mac's hand on the balled up fabric on his wound. Slender fingers clutched the material, but were too weak to push onto the wound. James had to act fast.

He took his belt out of its loops and slung it around Mac's belly to maintain the pressure on the leaking hole. The blond groaned again and struggled weakly against his father's ministrations. He suddenly started shaking. James chewed on his lower lip as he watched the blond's face lose even more color. The dim light from the naked light bulb high above their heads threw ghostly shadows on the sweaty face.

"Come on, Angus, stay with me," he ordered harshly, while he felt his composure crumble, slowly but surely.

_Focus!_

_Compartmentalize!_

_Don't let emotions get in the way!_

Although he'd successfully stopped the blood from leaking out of his son's body, he knew that there had to be internal bleeding as well; not to mention potential organ damage that was very likely with this kind of injury. They needed to be rescued soon, or he wasn't going to make it.

The problem was that they weren't going to be rescued.

It was highly unlikely that anyone even knew they were in trouble yet.

* * *

James looked frantically around, although he had already done so countless times and was certain that their concrete prison didn't have anything of help for them. The only exit was blocked by a seamlessly sealed, solid metal door. The lock wasn't exactly invincible for someone with his skills, but he was still shackled to the wall with a short chain and the lock of those had so far resisted every attempt to break it. Father and son had nothing to work with except for the clothes they were wearing, minus James's shoes and everything that had been in their pockets. Additionally, Angus was in no condition to go anywhere and, let's face it, without serious and speedy medical intervention he wouldn't last to see the next morning.

Nothing short of a miracle would do him any good.

James MacGyver had stopped believing in miracles very early in his life.

He looked down at his son's sweaty skin, the pallor, the shuddery quality of his breathing and the look in his eyes. Those eyes…

His breath caught in his throat when he stared into the wide-open blue eyes full of pain, fear and… defeat. He swallowed convulsively.

_This can't be happening! Not again!_

He'd seen that look before and he knew exactly what it meant.

Angus was going to die of his injury, and he was fully aware of it. He was just too stubborn to give up yet and he was fighting it with everything he had, but both men knew that it would, eventually, be in vain.

James was about to lose his only child.

The son he'd been treating like crap since the poor kid was not even old enough to attend school.

The son he'd left behind without so much as an explanation or warning on his tenth birthday, after acting more and more distant towards him for the preceding years already.

The son he'd loved, really, but for the life of him hadn't been able to take care of properly after his wife had passed away.

The last time James had seen that look in a pair of eyes of exactly the same shade of light blue, he'd been sitting at Ellen's bedside in the hospital condemned to watch helplessly while the woman he'd sworn to protect from harm at all costs was losing a battle against an opponent James couldn't fight. The moment when the light faded from her eyes and he knew she was gone had burned itself into his memory for all eternity.

His breathing became unsteady and his hands started to tremble slightly.

_Don't lose it now! You can't afford that! Breathe!_ He took several deep breaths.

"Angus, I want you to know that I'm sorry!" He sounded kind of stiff and formal, but at least not like he was losing control.

The blond blinked at him, puzzlement mixing with the pain on his pale face. "You did 'vrythin' - in your power," he slurs hoarsely, "there's n'thin' - you can do - 'nymore. You should try – to get – outta here."

The older MacGyver froze. _Wait! What?_ "What the hell are you talking about?" he inquired, although he had a pretty good idea where this was headed. He'd guessed correctly.

"I heard'em talking… I don't know who they are, but – they – want you to—to watch me die. And then - they'll kill you, too."

"Are you seriously telling me to leave you here for dead, to save myself? No way! We're getting out of here together, or not at all!"

Mac didn't seem to be tracking what his father had just said because his mind, although hazy from pain, was working on a way out. "Th-there's a hairpin– hidden in the– s-seam of my p-pants. Don' think they– f-foun' it. Left leg. Sh-should take care of – your shackles and – the door."

Automatically, James ran his hand down the fabric and felt the precious little object. He retrieved it and Angus nodded contently. "Good. Ya gotta go now."

"Seriously, Angus," the older man began, while he expertly inserted the hairpin into the lock of his shackles, "what in the world makes you think that I would go and leave you behind?"

"You've done it before."

_BAM! _

It didn't sound like an accusation or complaint. It was a simple statement, spoken softly and hoarsely, just stating the fact and worst of all, accepting it. The voice sounded broken, defeated and was barely more than a whisper.

James flinched as if he'd been punched in the face. It would've been a lot less painful if Angus had screamed at him or slapped him.

_What's he thinking? That had been completely different! I've never- _

_Or have I?_

The shackles opened with an audible click and the heavy chain clattered onto the concrete, unnaturally loud in the eerie silence that had settled after the statement, but neither man seemed to even notice. When James spoke next, he only just managed to keep a slight tremor out of his voice.

"Oh come on! You know I didn't just leave you to your fate. I left you in Harry's care and I always made sure you had everything you needed!" He sounded a tad exasperated.

_I _did _make sure of that, right? RIGHT? He was better off without me…_

"And yet you took away the one thing I needed most in the world," Mac stated matter-of-factly. His voice was still weak, but he was breathing a little easier now and his speech was clearer.

James sighed and moved over to the door to pick the lock. "Let's just get out of here and get you to a hospital, what do you say? We can discuss everything you want when you're recovering, okay?"

The older man tried to poke the hairpin into the door lock- and jumped a foot in the air with a yell of surprise and pain, nursing his right hand.

"OUCH! Shit, that fucking door is charged up, I can't touch it!"

Father and son exchanged a long look that said everything none of them wanted to say aloud. It said that they both knew that they were well and truly screwed.

"Are you hurt?" asked Mac, mostly to distract them from the inevitable truth.

James examined the burn marks on his fingers, where he'd held the delicate little piece of metal. "The pin took the brunt of it, so I got lucky. Problem is that it's burnt away," he replied sadly.

"Wouldn't have helped us anyway, as long as that door is playing live wire," Mac stated weakly, "which means that your only chance is to attack them and try to break free next time they open the door."

"OUR chance, Angus! We've been through that already, I'm not leaving you behind!"

"I'm not going anywhere and you know it. You know better than I do when to cut your losses."

James felt anger rise up his chest and his face hardened. "Damnit, Angus! Stop it! This is not a mission and we're not agents here. You are my son!" His voice slipped a tiny bit on the last word.

It wasn't clear whether Mac couldn't think of anything to say or if his voice failed him. He closed his eyes with a sigh and turned his face away. James touched his hair with the intention to run his fingers through it comfortingly, but retrieved it immediately when he felt his son flinch.

"It's okay, Angus," he began and gulped, before he went on, "we're in this together and I'm here for you. I could never just go and leave you here."

"And yet you left me, just when I would've needed my dad the most. You were gone, even long before you left." His lower lip was trembling slightly and his eyes were shining with yet unshed tears. "No matter how hard I tried, I wasn't good enough to make you stay."

James desperately wished that he'd misheard the last statement. It was spoken so softly that he had to bend down to catch the words, but they were reverberating in his ears as if they'd been screamed through a bullhorn. He opened his mouth to reply, but no sound came out. A heavy lump had formed in his throat. It felt as if it was slowly suffocating him.

"You thought that that was the reason why I left? Seriously?" he managed.

Mac didn't reply. Tears were leaking from both of his eyes and they had nothing to do with physical pain or the hopelessness of their situation. James stared at him in utter disbelief.

"How could you ever think that of - _me_?" he asked with a hint of vigor in his voice.

"What else was I – s'pposed to think?"

James's world stuttered to a halt. He gaped at his son, open-mouthed.

_WHAT?!_

"Why – You knew - I never realized-" James was momentarily too flabbergasted to string a coherent sentence together. He figured that his dumbstruck face must have looked funny, because Mac grimaced and let slip a bitter laugh that turned into a cough. His fingers clutched at his father's shirt and he fought hard to breathe through the waves of agony assaulting his body again. He succeeded only partially, which was clearly visible by the tears that streamed down his face. "Don' make- me laugh," he pressed out through clenched teeth, "h'rts- like hell!"

"Sorry… I didn't mean to be funny. I'm serious," James replied, somewhat irritably. "Jeez, I guess I owe you an apology," he finally admitted, disgruntled.

Mac managed a halfway decent eye-roll. "Don' you thin' - that it's a li'l - late - for that?"

"Better late than never?" James offered tentatively and earned himself another eye-roll for an answer. "Please, I'm begging you, Angus!" He looked anywhere but at his son's face while he spoke. When he glanced back down, the kid's eyes had closed and James felt his heart skip a beat. He shook his shoulders gently but firmly. Mac groaned and cracked his eyes open. His gaze found his father's and sluggishly focused on the worn face that hovered over him.

"Beggin' f-f-for what? Need my - praise for wha' a - great dad you've been?" Keeping the bitterness out of his voice was too much of an effort for Mac in his miserable state.

"No, of course not. I guess I've messed that up pretty bad, huh?" He hesitated, swallowing. That admission didn't come easy. "I'm not asking you to approve of what I did, nor to forgive me, but I want you to know why it- well- turned out the way it did."

The younger MacGyver didn't answer at first. He seemed to consider it, though. "Seems like- I've go' nothin' be'er to do- righ' now- anyway."

"After all, it's what you longed to know for all those years, isn't it?"

Angus sucked in a long, shaky breath and let it out slowly and deliberately, collecting himself as much as he could. "Well, in tha' case- I'm dyin'- to hear it." The ghost of a sarcastic smile twitched around his pale lips.

James winced at the terrible pun, but didn't comment on it.

"I thought I had everything under control. I actually believed I could reconcile family and secret agent work. I was convinced I had it all covered. I should have known better, of course…"

Sighing, he sat down on the ground with his back against the wall and helped Angus sit up halfway to lean his back against his chest. That should ease his violent shivering a bit. Then James started to tell his story in a monotone, faraway voice. Mac didn't waste any more energy on keeping his eyes open, but listened intently, desperately hoping that he'd live long enough to hear the whole story.

_Right. Better late than never..._


	2. Chapter 2

_Thanks so much for your patience and for coming back for the second chapter! I hope it won't disappoint._

_I'm absolutely overwhelmed by all your lovely support! Your reviews, likes and general awesomeness mean the world to me and I have no earthly idea how to tell you how grateful I am for each and every one of my readers! 💜💜💜_

_Special thanks again to my wonderful beta reader **Nativestar**! All remaining mistakes are mine. ;-)_

_I'd love to hear what you think._

_If you'd like to chat on tumblr, I'm **teddythecat1234**._

* * *

Chapter 2:

_Mission City, Northern California, mid-1990s_

James MacGyver stormed into the packed waiting area of the local ER and looked around, finally spotting the slightly pale, blonde woman he was proud to be allowed to call his wife and the silently crying toddler cradled in her arms. He fought his way through the crowd of people, trying not to trip over any of the bored children who were crawling around on the linoleum floor playing hide-and seek under chairs and between the legs of other waiting patients and parents.

"I'm sorry you had to wait for me. I came as quickly as I could," he said before he knelt down on the floor in front of where Ellen MacGyver had thankfully found a free chair. "What has our walking fire hazard done this time?" he asked, half jokingly and half exasperatedly.

The blond boy hid his tear-stained face in his mother's shoulder in shame and his small shoulders shook with sobs. Ellen immediately hugged him tighter, one hand at the back of the child's head ruffling his hair and the other one gently rubbing up and down his back for comfort. She whispered soothing nonsense into the kid's ear and after a minute or so the sobs subsided to occasional hiccups and sniffles. Ellen gently made him blow his nose. James sighed in relief. Crying children were something he'd always found hard to deal with and when the child in question was his own son… Well, let's just say that he was really glad that Ellen was so good at comforting him and _always _happy to do so. Try as he might, James himself never felt as comfortable with giving the physical reassurance that little Angus obviously needed to feel at ease. He couldn't wait for his son to get older and therefore gain control over such troubling outbursts of emotion.

James sighed. "Okay, you said on the phone that he burned his hands on a fire. How did he manage to start one this time?"

Ellen met his gaze and deep worry mixed with just a tiny bit of pride she couldn't quite suppress was shining in her bright blue eyes. "He's clearly taking after you."

"Why? What did he start the fire with?"

"With the contents of the very case he should neither be able to reach nor open. Which he did both," she finished. James stared first at her and then at the now snoozing boy in her arms in amazement and shock.

"How? I mean, we've locked every single lighter or match in a metal case and put it on the top shelf of the living room cupboard! How did he-"

"Angus MacGyver?" an exhausted looking nurse called loudly into the room to be heard over the noise the crowd was making. Both parents rose and made their way toward her. "Exam room 4, please." She guided them to an open door, they entered and sat down, Ellen with Angus on the cot and James in one of the chairs opposite the doctor's desk. "The doctor will be with you shortly," the nurse announced a little curtly but with a well-trained smile and closed the door behind them.

"We'll have to lock away the paperclips, too," Ellen announced matter-of-factly, pulling James out of a place deep inside his head he'd momentarily slipped into.

"Huh?"

"Our son - or should I say _your _son in this case? - opened that obviously not-so-childproof case with a paperclip."

"He didn't!"

"Oh yes, he did!" the woman confirmed with a ferocious nod.

James shook his head in disbelief. "He's barely four years old!" he stated, as if that made the entire mess magically disappear.

His wife shrugged helplessly. "What were you doing as a three-year-old?" she teased.

"Uhm, it's a little early to have any conscious memories of…" He tried to evade the question, but shrunk a little under Ellen's stern glance. "Okay, okay… According to my parents I was giving them grief with mischief exactly like this."

"So I heard." His wife was just grinning broadly at him when the pediatrician on duty opened the door and stuck his head into the exam room. He was a round-faced, good-natured looking man in his late 50s with dark brown skin and retreating black hair that was greying at the temples. James immediately recognised the demeanor of a man who was stressed out but went to great lengths in order not to let it show. He couldn't help but take an instant liking to the doctor.

"Mr and Mrs MacGyver with Angus?" he asked tentatively and only as James and Ellen confirmed he entered the room. He introduced himself as Dr Akeem Howard and pulled the swivel chair towards him to sit down facing the honey-blonde woman and the little boy in her lap, who seemed to shrink in her arms as soon as he spotted the doctor. The pediatrician humored the terrified kid for now and talked to the thankfully much calmer parents first. They'd get to the shitty part soon enough.

"I heard he burned his hands? What happened?"

Ellen inhaled deeply and started to explain. "Well, he _somehow _got his hands on a pack of matches. Please don't ask! We can't believe it either," she forestalled Dr Howard's interruption. "Long story short, he lit a fire in our garden. By all appearances, he got scared when I called for him and tried to put it out with his bare hands."

James winced in sympathy and Angus started wailing and babbling. All three adults in the room could clearly make out the word "akkident", which prompted Ellen to hug her boy even tighter. Running her fingers through his hair, she whispered into his ear, "I know it was an accident, honey. That doesn't matter now. We're not mad at you. But we need to have your hands looked at."

"Don't wanna," the child protested, "hurts." Thick tears were rolling down his cheeks and he vehemently refused to let anybody have so much as a glimpse of his injured appendages. Ellen kept up the stroking of his hair and whispering, which had dropped in volume to a level that was only for her son to hear. James was infinitely grateful for the fact that Dr Howard didn't push the matter. Ellen could work magic on their son; she'd just need a couple of minutes. And sure enough, after maybe three or four minutes Angus very reluctantly extended one of his loosely wrapped fists.

James found himself unable to watch the procedure that followed. Although he was sadly used to seeing unimaginable atrocities in his line of work and had developed a mostly successful strategy how to deal with that in order to stay functional, this was the moment when he realized that seeing little Angus suffer was his kryptonite. He just couldn't stand it. It made his heart clench painfully and his head swim.

The remainder of the doctor's visit was little more than a blur to him in hindsight. What he remembered vividly were the heart-wrenching cries from the kid, as the doctor cleaned and rewrapped the raw, blistering skin on his palms and fingers. Those were likely to haunt James for the rest of his life. Ellen held Angus tightly wrapped in her embrace as if she was keeping him from falling apart, but she didn't have to force him to keep his hands still. Not once did the boy even try to pull away, although it was clear that he was in great pain and distress.

_Thank God for Ellen! What would I do without her? _James thought, totally in awe of his wife's comforting abilities...

* * *

_Back in the cell_

"Those burns were only the start of a series of cuts, burns, stings and bites and other mostly minor but sometimes also not-so-minor injuries that you kept sustaining, but none of those ever stopped you from exploring literally everything. Your thirst for knowledge was many times stronger than your fear of getting hurt. You were just too inquisitive for your own good. Runs in the family, I'm afraid." James smiled a little sheepishly.

"Before you could even walk and talk, we could already tell that there was a sharp mind at work inside your head. Your fingers were constantly scrutinizing everything within reach. You never just played with your toys as any other toddler does. No. You craved to figure out what things were made of, how they worked. Almost nothing was safe from your prying hands. They wouldn't rest until they'd taken apart whatever unfortunate item happened to fall into them. Your wit and your determination and stubbornness never ceased to amaze everyone. Oh, you made your parents proud! But being responsible for you was a never-ending challenge..."

James trailed off and paused for a moment. He checked on Mac, whose pulse and breathing were a little weak and fast, but steady. The stale and smelly air in the confined space didn't help matters but thus far he was hanging on. The older man sighed and went on with his story.

_To be continued..._


End file.
